Someone Watching Over Me
by lunequireve
Summary: "Maybe I'm dreaming you. Maybe you're dreaming me; maybe we only exist in each other's dreams and every morning when we wake up we forget all about each other." -Audrey Niffenegger. For Natasha sleep was a gift that rarely brought peace or safety, yet a chance meeting changes everything. For a man stuck in ice, frozen in time, sleep was all he had. However 1 dream changes that.
1. Once Upon a Time

"Papa? Mama? Where are you? Please come out! Please. It's dark here, please!" The little girl bent down, her crimson curls falling over her face, her thin arms hugging her frail body. "I'm scared." She whispered as the tears began running down her face echoing as they hit the ground. She wondered if this was a test. She knew she wasn't supposed to admit her weaknesses, but she was frightened and lost, and she couldn't find her papa and her mama!

"Are you alright child?" She heard a voice to her left. Startled she jumped into a defensive stance, her arms curling up, her legs bent at the knees, her body coiling together as if ready to pounce at any moment. Surprised she looked at her hands curled into tiny fists. Where did that come from? She wasn't supposed to fight. Her papa always told her to use words not violence. Ashamed she dropped her hands to her sides, but try as she might, her hands wouldn't uncurl, her nails beginning to bite into her palms. "They will be so disappointed with you, Natalia." She heard a voice whisper inside her head. Natalia? Her name was Natasha not Natalia.

"Child?" The same voice asked again. Not the whispering one, but the "real" one?

She looked over to see a man dressed in red, white, and blue standing to her left. "Yes" she wanted to lie and say she was fine. Lie? Her mama had always told her to never lie because lies could and would only hurt other people. But for some reason she wanted, no, needed to say yes, to prove that she was strong, to prove that she could do it by herself, to protect herself. But she couldn't let her mama down, so instead she bit her tongue and shook her head to indicate her answer.

The man smiled at her and knelt down so they were eye to eye. "Do you speak English, child?"

"Da." She said, "I speak English." But she didn't, did she? She had never heard that language in her life yet she could understand everything the strange man was saying. He smiled again and she decided she liked his smile. It wasn't the mean smiles that so often graced the faces of the instructors she saw, but a nice, warm smile. Mean smile? Her mama and papa smiled all the time when they were happy. She had never seen a mean smile in her life, yet she had, hadn't she?

"I'm Steve." He reached a hand out towards her, causing her to jump away from him, cringing, preparing herself for the worst, but it never came. She stayed there for a few moments until she gingerly cracked open one eye and saw him standing there as if he was frozen. Slowly she crept back towards him and looked at his outstretched arm. What was she supposed to do? There was nothing in his hand. No gun. No knife. No weapon of any sort was in his hand. What did he want her to do? No gun, no knife? What was a gun? And what would she do with a knife? Her papa and mama had always told her to stay away from the knives least she cut herself on one.

"You shake it and tell me your name, child." He explained, his voice tinged with amusement and yet a hint of worry as well. Twice she had jumped away from him as if he was going to hurt her. He didn't know who she was, or what they were doing here, but he could tell something wasn't right. He watched as she took a breath, pulled herself up into the perfect military stance and reached out a careful, cautious, and trembling hand.

"Natasha." She introduced herself. "My name's Natasha, not child" she giggled as her voice gained strength. Yet somewhere, deep in her mind she heard a frosty voice correcting her saying, "No, you are Natalia. Do you understand me, Natalia?"

"Well, Miss Natasha," Natasha, was that a Russian name he wondered to himself, "Do you know where we are?" He used his hand to gesture to the woods surrounding them.

She shook her head feeling as if she had let him down, and while she knew (wait, knew?) she would be punished for not only failing in deducing their location, but for showing her emotions as well, she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and beginning their descent to the ground. She knew that failure resulted in punishment, but that didn't make any sense. Her papa and mama encouraged her to try again whenever she failed, and never ever punished her for failing.

"Hey, it's okay to not know." Steve's gentle voice tried to reassure her. "I don't know where we are either. But," He put his hands on her arms as gently as he could although it still caused her to jump in surprise, her hands finally uncurling, "I promise everything will be okay. Don't worry Natasha."

"Promise?" She asked. "Natalia," That cold voice in her head scolded her, "Did you forget again? Promises are meant to be broken." But that didn't matter to her. Not this time anyways, she just wanted to hear him say it again.

"I promise Natasha. And I'm always honest." He watched as she smiled for the first time, her whole face lighting up and then as she threw herself at him, her sinewy arm wrapping around his neck as she hugged him.

"Okay." She pressed her tiny cheek against his. "I trust you Steve." She only hugged him for a few more seconds before she forced herself to let go. Her mind had been telling her exactly how to jerk her arms and exactly what force to use so that his neck would snap and death would be instantaneous. "Never leave any survivors or witnesses Natalia or you know the repercussions." She could hear a frigid voice warning her. Where did that come from? Her mama and papa hugged her every night before she went to sleep and her papa would never teach her something like that. He was a man of peace never of violence.

"Do you play chess, child?" Steve's voice cut across the fogginess of her mind as he pulled out a chess set from mid air? Where had that come from? He hadn't been holding it the whole time had he? Or perhaps he had been and she had just missed it. "Missed another important detail, Natalia? Oh, how we will have to work on that." The terrifying voice threatened her.

She scrunched up her nose at the name "child", (that wasn't her name!) but shook her head. What was "chess"?

"That's okay." He smiled again and patted the area across from him on the boulder that he had placed the box on. Had that boulder always been there? Natasha wondered as she sat down across from him and but accepted it as she watched in wonder as he took little black and white pieces from the box and began to set the on the wooden board.

"This piece is called a pawn." He said lifting up a tiny white rounded piece of wood and handed it to her. "Now I know it may look like it's just a little insignificant piece," He chuckled at the face Natasha had made at the tiny thing she held in her hand, "but if you get it to the other side of the board, it becomes the most powerful piece in the whole game – the queen. But it takes time and patience for it to become the queen. And this, Natasha, is called the…"

"Natalia wake up! Wake up! You have to wake up before…" Natasha could hear Yelena calling her.

Waking up immediately she looked over to find her only friend at the "Academy" sitting on her bed staring at her, a strange look in her eyes.

"What wrong?" She asked.

"Nothing, but you had a weird look on your face as you slept. Your mouth looked like this." Yelena used her fingers to force the sides of her mouth to quirk up into a tiny smile.

Natasha gently touched her mouth, covering it as the sides pulled up to mimic the expression that Yelena was trying to show her. She didn't know what would happen today. She didn't know if she would even survive or what they would "teach" her, but for some reason, she felt safer than she had ever felt in her time at the "Academy". It was as if someone was watching over her and had promised that everything would be okay. And for some reason, while she knew that promises were meant to be broken and had little value, she felt that she could trust whoever had made that promise because they were always honest.

A/N. This little story popped up in my head while I was rereading "The Time Traveler's Wife. I do not own the quote be Audrey Niffenegger, not the characters, nor anything that anyone recognizes (such as Steve's quote "I'm always honest.") However, this was unbeta'd, so I must claim all the mistakes that must be found. :/ This is also cross posted on AO3 under the name La_Reveuse. (Sorry, I just found that name to be a little too long…) Thank you for reading and I hope you had/have a wonderful day!


	2. Chapter 1

**Note: This chapter is a little heavier than the last one, but I do not believe it holds any trigger warnings…**

"Steve? Steve are you here?" An older girl ran though the woods, her feet sure of their placement as her white gown flowed around her, giving her the appearance of a ghost. "Steve, please this isn't funny. If you're here, please come out!"

She had searched the entire expanse of the woods, but she hadn't found him. In the years since Natasha had met Steve, he was always in the same places – in the valley by the boulder where they had played chess that fateful first day, the hill with the beautiful trees – "those are maple trees, Natasha," Steve had explained holding up a golden red leaf and tickling her nose with it, or by the river where he occasionally liked to fish as she sat besides him, the two exchanging stories as they watched the river bubble along. She would tell him what she was "learning" and he would regale her with fairytales of far away heroines who had escaped their dire situations to live happily ever after or with tales of the brave Captain America and his Howling Commandos. But where was he?

"Steve? Steve please, this isn't funny!" She called as she finally returned to the valley sitting down on "their" boulder.

"Surprise!" Steve shouted as he jumped up from behind it.

"Steve!" Natasha jumped off the boulder, landing perfectly on her feet, her hand instinctively going to her waist grasping for a weapon that wasn't there. "That was not funny." She said crossing her arms across her chest. . How had she missed that? She wondered. She had walked around the whole boulder, hadn't she?

"I'm sorry." He apologized holding out his hand, revealing a perfect brown pawn. "For you."

"A pawn?" She asked skeptically, not moving to pick up his offering.

"It's maple sugar." He explained knowing far too well how cautious the "Academy" had taught her to be. "You know, from the maple trees." He used his other hand to motion towards the hill, a part of him far too happy that she hadn't flinched at his sudden gesture.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and moved to pick up the proffered item. She stared at it pensively and weighed it in her hand. _Well, it does look edible_ she thought as it rested in her palm. _Alright._ She moved her left hand to break it into two pieces so that Steve could have part of it.

"No, it's okay child." He stopped her, grinning at the face she made at the old nickname. "I have my own." He produced a horse shaped piece and showed it to her as if to prove its existence.

"Your favorite piece." She observed as she began to eat her candy pawn.

"My favorite piece." He agreed. "Chess?" He asked motioning to the board that had appeared on the boulder fully set up. They had decided to stop wondering how things like that happened years ago. It was far easier to just accept that things appeared and disappeared as if magical rather than trying to figure out how it happened.

"Black or white?" She asked approaching the board.

"You choose." He offered, gesturing to both sides with the hand that was not holding his knight.

She stared at the board as if contemplating which side to take; even though they both knew which side she would choose. "White." She finally decided nodding her head. She always chose white if she could.

"Black for me then." He settled down on the slab of rock, which was actually more comfortable than it appeared. "So you had something to tell me?" He asked finishing his piece of candy watching Natasha as she stared intensely at the board.

"Mm-hmm." She murmured as she moved her pawn forward two spaces, her brown pawn sitting half eaten on an ivory napkin. "I'm finished Steve." The smile that he so loved appearing on her face. "I finally finished."

Time passed differently where they were. Steve had come to realize this as the years had passed and as he had watched as Natasha had grown from the little child he had first met, to a young adolescent, to finally the teenager that sat across from him. Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, he knew more than the ten years Natasha had aged had passed.

"I knew you would." He said as he mirrored her move, moving the black pawn forward. "I always had faith you would succeed. So what's next?" He asked as he watched her nose scrunch up as she debated her next move.

"Well, I officially find out my first assignment tomorrow." She told him shrugging her shoulders as if she didn't care even though he could see that her eyes were bright with excitement. "I don't know where it's going to be, but I did find out my name today!" Her voice becoming more excited as she continued, "The Black Widow. Isn't that a neat name? I think it's because my suit's black and you know, I have red hair. It is a funny name though, the Black Widow." A pensive look appearing on her face as she contemplated her new name.

Steve smiled. It was in moments like that when he realized how little Natasha knew of the world. He knew that not only was the black widow black and red in color, but it was also extremely deadly.

"But oh Steve, it's going to be wonderful. I just know it. For once I get to make my own choices. I get to go explore. I even get to leave the Academy with no one trailing me! It's going to be amazing." She leaned back, her eyes closing as the brilliant sunlight shone down on her.

Steve wasn't so sure about that. From what Natasha had told him about the Academy and from everything he had quietly gathered over the years, he wasn't completely sure that an assignment from there would be anything like what she expected. But, he had promised himself long ago as he held a little Natasha in his arms as she wept over the death of one of her "classmates," that he would always protect her. However as she lay there in the radiant sunlight, looking every bit like the child she should have been, he didn't have the heart to tell her what he suspected. So instead he simple moved his queen out from behind the pawn line and said, "Your move Natasha."

* * *

"Steve?" Natasha frantically looked around, stumbling as she searched for her best friend. "Steve? Where are you?"

"Natasha?" He appeared from behind her, his eyes widening in concern as he took in her appearance – a pure white dress splattered with drying crimson blood. "Natasha, what happened?" He asked as gently as he could, taking her in his arms and tenderly sitting the both of them down on the rock that had appeared behind him, never once loosening his grip on the fragile girl in his arms.

"I had to Steve. I had to!" Natasha looked up at him desperately, her eyes pleading, begging him for understanding.

"You had to do what child?" His soft voice asked her.

"I had no choice! If I didn't do it, someone else would have! But she didn't deserve it! How could she? She was just a ребёнка! A baby!" Natasha cried, tears running down her face, mingling with the droplets of blood that lay splattered across her face like ruby freckles.

"It's okay Tasha, it'll be alright." He attempted to soothe her, still not fully comprehending what had happened.

"No it won't Steve! You'll hate me forever and then you'll leave me just like my mama and papa did and then I'll be all alone!" She corrected him, tugging her arms free and moving her hands to wipe away the tears that were flowing down her face, an action that only made it worse as her hands were also stained red with crimson blood.

"I will never leave you Tasha, I promise." He said as he gently lifted her up in his arms and started to carry her towards the river. He knew that she needed to wash the blood from her hands before she would be able to think straight and explain what had happened.

"Here Tasha," He said as he carefully placed her on the riverbank, "wash your hands. You'll feel better once you wash your hands." However, try as she might she couldn't put her hands into the water. He watched, his heart breaking, as she struggled to bring her hands towards the river yet every time she got close to it, her hands would shake so violently that she was forced to drop them to her sides exhausted.

She looked up at him, the tears still running down her face dripping red droplets on the white gown she wore, staining it beyond repair. "I can't Steve." She finally whispered, her voice as fragile as that of a baby bird.

"Then let me help you." He knelt down besides her and carefully took her hands in his. He gently lowered them into the water and picking up the bar of soap that appeared next to him, he scrubbed her hands, freeing them from the blood that had stained them. When he was certain that all the blood had been washed away, he picked up the white cotton towel that had replaced the bar of soap and dried them, rubbing Natasha's hands together with the soft cotton as if to reassure her that he was there, that he was sitting next to her, and that he would never leave her. Once he had made sure her hands were dry, he held a now clean, warm, damp towel and delicately removed all the traces of blood from her face, wiping away the crimson scars that had marred her face.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes – Natasha's head resting on Steve's shoulder – simply listening to the soft murmuring of the river as it happily giggled along its river bed. All was fine until Natasha looked down and caught a glimpse of her hands that Steve had gingerly placed on her lap.

"It's still there! Oh, it's still there!" She lifted one of her small shaking hands to see it more clearly. "Look! It's dripping off my hand and running down my arm. Don't you see it Steve?" She wrenched her eyes away from her hand and fixed her gaze on him, her tortured eyes filling with tears. "She was just a baby." Her voice broke. "She didn't deserve it. How could she? Who deserves something like that?" Her head shook back and forth, her scarlet curls dancing widely around her face. "I tried not to. I tried to stop. I tried to do something, but I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. It was like my hand moved by itself. It pulled out the gun, pointed it at her and pulled the trigger." Fresh tears started racing down her face. "And she saw me! She opened her eyes and she saw me holding a gun pointed straight at her. But she didn't know what it was. She didn't know that it was her last minutes on Earth. So she smiled at me, she smiled at me! And I tried to stop, I really did. I tried to put it down, but I couldn't! I could hardly say anything. It was like my tongue wasn't my tongue, it wouldn't listen. It was like I had no control. But I fought. I fought it, I promise you I fought it, but all I could say, all I could whisper, all I could promise was, 'Shh, shh,'" her voice broke again, "'It'll be alright. Everything will be alright.' And then my finger moved and pulled the trigger and put the bullet right through her heart. And she died smiling at me because she trusted me. She trusted that I wouldn't hurt her. Look at me Steve!" She jerked her head up from where it had been on her knees, cradled in her arms. "Look at me! I'm a monster." She threw herself at him sobbing, her thin body shaking as she finally lost control and let the sobs over take her.

As he held her, his heart that had been breaking now felt as if it had splintered into a million pieces. He had never felt more helpless in his life. Not all those times he had been rejected from the opportunity to serve his country. Not the time he had been forced to put the Hydra plane down in the middle of the ocean and had to say goodbye to Peggy. Not even when he had lost Bucky. For some reason, this was inexplicably different. All he could do was hold Natasha and murmur the same exact words she had whispered to Drankov's daughter. "Shh, shh. It'll be alright. Everything will be alright."

There was a part of him that hoped that if he repeated it enough times she (and he) would come to believe it was true. So he kept repeating it over and over and over again. When she had finally cried her tear ducts dry and the sobs that had wracked her frail body subsided, she corrected him in a broken voice.

"No Steve. No it won't. This isn't like the fairytales. This isn't a story of Captain America and his Howling Commandos. There's no knight in shining armor coming to save the day. There's no beautiful and perfect heroine to rescue. I'm little more than a pawn to be used to fulfill someone else's goals and then sacrificed so one person, one country, can win. That's," She looked away, her eyes focusing on a green ash tree leaf that was floating down the river, having no control over its course or destiny, "that's simply the way the game works." She sighed as if resigned to her fate. "That's, that's just the game we have to play."

"Except," He used his hand to delicately turn her head so that she was facing him, her somber green eyes looking into his kind blue ones, "that simple pawn, the piece that no one ever pays attention to, that everyone used to achieve their own goals, that piece that has no control, that piece will one day become the most powerful piece in the whole game. Tasha, one day, one day you will be able to make your own choices and be in control of your own destiny. You just have to be patient. Remember, I'm always honest and I know one day, just you wait, you'll be able to make your own calls."

Natasha had no words, nor truly any strength to say anything, so instead she just reached up and hugged him. "I wish you were real. I wish you were real and not imaginary. I wish I could remember you. I wish that when I wake up I could remember you. I wish…" She thought to herself, her check pressed against Steve's just as she had done as a child.

Finally she let go. He wasn't going to force her to let go – he knew how much she need that, to be in control. She looked over at him and asked, "So?"

He smiled. There was the Natasha he knew. "Chess?" He offered.

She returned the smile, a little more tentative, a little more forced than it had ever been in the past, and a little more broken, but it was a smile. She nodded and scrambling to her feet, her white gown pooling around her still stained with blood although it was fainter than it had been or it should have been, and called "Race you to the boulder! I'll set up!"

Steve felt a few tiny fragments of his heart being put back together again as he watched her race away. Running, the sunlight streaming through the leaves causing her crimson curls to sparkle, she looked like the child he wished she could have been. He picked up the shield that had appeared by his feet and started following her path to their boulder. He would start training her the next time she came to visit. Today, today she needed to simply be a child.

**AN. Thank you so much for reading this chapter. I hope you liked it! Have a wonderful day! :)**


	3. Chapter 2

**Note. This chapter once again touches on some heavy material, but I think it's treaded upon very carefully. Please tell me if you think it isn't and I'll change it. Thank you!**

"Tasha?" Steve walked around one of the oak trees that surrounded their boulder, providing wonderful shade when the sun beat down on them, and found her standing there, pressing a knife into the trunk of one of them, her face set with grim determination. "What are you doing here? I didn't know you had arrived."

She didn't respond, her hand turning white from the pressure she was exerting.

"Tasha." Still no response. He sighed, "Child." He said using a name which elicited no real response, although she did crinkle her nose at the nickname. "Natasha," He tried again. "Please, what's going on? What are you doing?"

She still didn't respond, so Steve simply sat down on a soft green patch of grass that was conveniently cleared of any twigs, stones, and any other pointy sharp objects that could be found in the woods.

When she finally finished she stared at the line with careful consideration, tilting her head slightly as if the new angle would allow her to see any mistakes she may have made. Satisfied, she let out the breath she hadn't known she had been holding (Steve didn't know exactly how long she must have been holding it, but it was a while) and let the knife she had been clutching in her hand fall, disappearing before it hit the ground. She walked over to Steve and laid her head on his shoulder, tired as if she had been carrying the weight of the world on her fragile shoulders. Or the weight of ghost, Steve thought to himself, the slight weight of Natasha's head and the feel of her curls tickling his neck keeping him tethered to the earth. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked turning his head slightly to gauge her reaction.

"Hospital. Children's ward." Her eyes closed of their own accord as if she were seeing the faces of her victims, one single tear running down her face, and shimmering like crystal as it fell on the vibrant green grass.

Steve knew those types of assignments tore her to pieces. She hated killing anyone, but as the years had passed, she had resigned herself to the life she had to live. The life she had no choice but to carry on living. Which had led to the tree. She had realized a long time ago that often times she didn't remember her previous assignments outside of the world they currently occupied and with no way to truly remember them or pay them the honor she thought they were due, had taken to carving a line into the trunk of one particular oak tree for every assignment she was forced to go on that had led to someone's death. He knew she tried to hide how much each assignment stole from her, but he knew the ones involving children always broke down every wall she desperately tried to hide behind.

"It'll be okay. Everything will be alright Natasha, I promise." He attempted to comfort her.

She sat up, jerking her head off his shoulder so fast that he was sure she would snap her neck. "No it won't Steve. You've been telling me that for years, and it hasn't gotten any better. I still can't stop it. I'm still forced to kill innocent people, innocent children who in no way deserved to die, especially in that manner." The fire that had engulfed the ward danced in front of her eyes. "Can't I just stay here with you?" She finally whispered, dropping her head back onto his shoulder.

He tried to hide his shock as his mind registered what she had just asked, his body tensing with realization.

Still, Natasha showed no signs of noticing what had happened and continued to explain, "It's just," she paused, "I'm so tired of all of it. Of the killing, of all the blood, of all the unnecessary death. Here, here I'm happy Steve." She revealed.

He forced himself to say, "You can be happy there too." His mind still reeling in shock. _How could she think such a thing? His sweet Natasha. Surely she wouldn't…_

"How? How Steve?" She looked at him, her tired, dull green eyes meeting his concerned blue ones. "How can I when I know I'm a monster? When I've had to murder those who have done nothing, absolutely nothing to be sentence to death in such a way in order to keep myself alive? What does that make me? I'm no better than **them**!" She spat out the last word, hatred seeping into her voice meant for those who had made her and controlled her as well as herself.

"It's okay Natasha. It's okay." Steve soothed her. "One day, just you wait, one day, I promise you, you will be able to choose." He tried his best to reassure her, to remove that thought from her mind.

"When? When Steve? When I'm old and my hair has gone white and wrinkles have appeared on my face? When my skin no longer looked like this?" She whipped up her hand, a perfectly shaped, pale white hand. "When I can no longer see or speak? Steve, look at me." She implored. "I haven't aged in years, and you know that. You watched me grow up and you've watched me stay the same for a very long time."

It was true. He had watched Natasha grow from the child she had been to the woman she was now, yet the process had taken much longer than the time it should have taken. If he could assume anything, he would have assumed she had been given a version of the serum that had made him Captain America. He didn't know what to say or how he could make her feel better. Once again he was helpless. So he did the best thing he could do – he simply sat there, watching as Natasha slowly calmed down and began to relax under the late afternoon sun. Finally he decided to ask the only thing he knew to say, "Chess?"

Natasha looked over at him, quiet amusement dancing in her previously dead eyes. She signed and nodded, "Alright."

* * *

She had heard him enter the room, his footsteps as loud as bullets shot point blank, of buildings exploding, and of children crying as their world disappeared into a fiery explosion around them. Yet she wasn't scared. Instead she tightened her grip around the precious object in her hand, a sense of peace washing over her as if someone, someone special, was watching over her. Maybe, just maybe, this man, the man she knew was dressed in maroon and black, the man who was supposed to be her enemy could become her savior instead.

She could feel him staring at her as if deciphering what to do, his gaze piercing her as sharp as any arrow he could have shot, but she refused to turn around. Instead she kept her eyes firmly gazing at the night sky and at the stars that shown, oh so brightly, above her. "I wish, I wish…" She heard a voice inside her head murmur.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" He finally asked, his Russian, almost perfect with just the tiniest hint of an American accent, cutting across the room like an arrow he had yet to release, yet never shattering the peace she felt. She allowed herself a tiny smile.

"Would it make it easier for you?" She asked in what she knew was perfect, unaccented English. They had used every trick they knew to rid every student of any trace of an accent – _You will not endanger your mission by being uneducated and refusing to comply._ They had coldly informed every child of that one night, their words hiding promises of what would come if they were not perfect the next morning. Her nose scrunching up in confusion as she tried to contemplate what he wanted her to do.

"I mean, I can if you want. But," She paused thinking, "Wouldn't that make it harder?"

He saw her fingers tighten against whatever she held in her right hand. It didn't look like a weapon of any sort, but he couldn't be certain. Who knew what the Russians had come up with? Maybe this was all a trap. A ploy to get him to lower his guard and then the infamous Black Widow would spring her trap and strike the fatal blow. "Alright Widow. What are you playing at?" He asked his voice harsher than he had intended.

"Nothing." She smiled allowing her gaze to fall on the brightest star that shown against the black endless sea. _Polaris_ her mind whispered before she turned around to face him.

He took in her appearance. Dressed in a white dress the Black Widow appeared far younger and more innocent than he had ever thought she would be. She looked like a young woman, barely in her early 20's. Her crimson hair fell in curls down her back, ringlets framing her face contrasting with her flawless pale skin. Yes, as she appeared now, standing before him, lit by the moonlight, she looked nothing like the woman who had murdered a whole ward of sick, innocent children in cold blood or who had shot a child point blank. Yet standing before him was the Black Widow, wasn't it? But how could the fabled Black Widow, the woman horror stories were told about, the woman whose crimes were so horrifying that they were told as stories to children to get them to behave, how could that woman be the same girl he saw before him? She was almost a child herself, her eyes shining with, was that hope, peace and innocence? He didn't understand what was going on.

"It's okay Hawkeye. I know who you are." She said softly, her voice wistful. "I know what you were sent to do. It's okay. Go ahead."

Why was she trying to reassure him? He didn't understand her ploy at all. What kind of assassin opens herself up to an attack like this? He knew she was good, very good at her trade, and if she had a weapon she could have probably killed him before he took another breath, but that didn't seem to be her plan and whatever she held in her hand, was most probably not a weapon. So he took a chance. "Don't you want to live?" He asked lowering his bow so he could see her more clearly.

She smiled again, a soft, small serene smile gracing her face. He had never seen and assassin make that sort of expression before, most certainly not before their possible death, and he couldn't lie and say it didn't confuse him, because it did.

"I've existed for a very long time Hawkeye." She explained. "And I've been searching, searching my whole existence for a way out." She shrugged her delicate shoulders. "And now you're here. And maybe you can set me free. Maybe this time I can stay." Her voice filling with optimism yet tinged with yearning.

He could only stare at the young woman, no girl, standing before him. There was something about her that begged him not to kill her, yet her words seemed to be pleading with him, beseeching him, to shoot her. He knew that the Director would be furious with him for making a different call, but he couldn't help it. There was something about her – perhaps the air of innocent she gave off, or the way she held herself as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders, or maybe it was the child like smile that graced her face – that forbade him from shooting her. So he reloaded his arrow, a different tip this time, pulled the string back, it just barely touching his cheek and in one fluid motion, released. There was reason why he was called Hawkeye – he never missed a shot – but this time, for the first time in his life, the arrow had not hit its "intended" target. Instead of shooting the Black Widow and sending an arrow straight through her heart, the arrow hit the ground, exploding with just enough power to render her unconscious.

"Thank you." His sensitive ears picked up her whispered gratitude as she fell, her grasp loosening on the object she had tightly clung to throughout their whole confrontation. As she hit the ground with a gentle thud, her hand opened just enough that a pure white chess piece was revealed. He didn't know very much about chess, but he knew enough to know what that piece was. That piece, the thing that had seemed to be her lifeline, was the queen. The most powerful piece in the entire game. Yet what confused him was the question of what was the Black Widow, the most infamous, cold-hearted assassin, doing clutching a chess piece during what could have possibly been her last minutes on earth?

* * *

It had come as a great surprise when Director Fury hadn't been furious that he had let the Black Widow live. Instead at yelling at him or sending him away on some crazy and impossible mission as disciplinary action for not following his orders, Fury had instead asked him how the Black Widow had acted during their confrontation.

Clint, relieved that he wasn't going to get sanctioned for his actions, told Fury everything. Everything from the way she hadn't reacted when he had entered the room even though she had known full well who he was and what he was tasked with. He reported the way she had kept her gaze locked on the stars until the very last moment. He described the way she had opened herself up to him to allow him the best shot, and finally, he told the Director about the chess piece she had been holding the whole time. He decided not to say anything about the strange mention of being able to stay nor the content smile that appeared on her face as she thanked him the last time.

He handed Fury the cool white chess piece. "What does it mean, sir?"

"It means," Fury said taking the white queen away from him, "you made the right call Agent Barton." With that he deemed the conversation over and left Clint to stare at the young woman lying on the hospital bed, smiling ever so slightly in her sleep as she lay, unconscious on earth yet awake in her dreams.

* * *

Fury placed the white queen, the last piece needed to complete the set, on the chessboard he had hidden in a secret panel underneath his desk. "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D. Miss Romanova. Welcome home."

**A/N. Thank you so much to everyone who subscribed to this story and to Mary, Liz, and Guest who commented. I wasn't to sure if anyone would like this when I started writing it, so it means so much more than I could say (or write) that someone enjoys it. I hope you liked this chapter and the take on Clint's different call. Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you have (have had) a wonderful day! :) **


	4. Chapter 3

**This chapter is more light hearted this time, yay! (Well technically it is…)**

"So how do you do it?" Clint asked as he plopped down in the chair across from her.

She looked up from the book of fairytales she had been reading and raised one eyebrow in question. _Do what?_ She asked silently.

Clint sighed reading her expression. "I mean, how do you stay calm during every single mission? Even the ones that have gone south?"

Natasha looked at her partner in amusement. "You're asking me this now?"

"Well, when was I supposed to ask you?" He asked rolling his eyes. "When we're in the middle of the mission? That would be an interesting conversation." He snorted imagining it – hushed conversations over the comms and Coulson reminding at them to "Keep it down! You're on a mission not at dinner, have the conversation later, please."

"It would certainly confuse them." Natasha agreed, a brief smile appearing on her face that all too quickly disappeared. "You've read my file Barton. You know why." And that was it. She returned to finish the story she had been reading and then turned the page to reread her favorite one. Somewhere deep in her mind she had a feeling someone had told her the tale long ago, but she knew that was impossible. Why would someone employed by the Red Room tell them fairytales? Especially one where the heroine overcomes her evil stepmother, obtains her wish, and marries the prince of her dreams. That wouldn't have made very much sense at all. They had conditioned them to be weapons, not dreamers. They had created them to obey all orders given, not protest and find away around it. But if she hadn't heard it in the Red Room, then where was it from and who had told it to her?

"Well," Clint said gently pushing the book down so he could see more than the top of Natasha's crimson curls, "I think it's more than that. Come on Nat, you know you can trust me."

She did know she could trust him. Even knowing who she was and what she had done, he had spared her and brought her back to S.H.I.E.L.D. He had fought for her and had had her back during every mission they were assigned. He was one of her closest friends, so she knew she could trust him. But she didn't have an answer for him, or not one that he was looking for anyways. So she moved the book back up and continued reading. Maybe if she didn't give him an answer he would leave and she wouldn't have to destroy yet another person. Besides, this was the best part – the fairy godmother appearing and renewing Cinderella's sense of hope. But he was still there as Cinderella sped off towards the castle. "There's nothing Clint." She finally said.

He pushed the book back down using the least amount of pressure needed. " Yes there is. I've seen you sleep after all our mission, especially the ones that haven't gone according to plan. Every time, every single time you go to sleep with frown on your face but in the morning it's morphed into a smile. So something happens. Come on Nat, what's your secret?"

"Great, so now I know who watches me sleep. I guess I can call off that investigation. Where's my phone?" She said dryly. "But really Clint, I don't know what you're trying to find. There's no secret. I don't have a magical method that helps me sleep." She told him with a remorseful smile and then returned to her fairytale.

"Yes, you do Nat." He insisted again. "You have to."

She sighed, picked up a napkin and using it as a bookmark, closed her well-loved book. Moving her head ever so slightly indicating to the man who had become her partner what she was going to do, she left.

* * *

"What is this all about Clint?" She asked once they were in their "shared" office. She used it far more than Clint did and although there was a moveable partition between the two sides, for "privacy", she could always tell when Clint was there, which wasn't very often as he thought best while practicing and she thought best while in their office. It was simply a matter of preference.

He didn't say anything but picked up a report that was supposed to be filed a few weeks ago. Oops…

"Clint." Natasha said, one word conveying her confusion and worry.

"I see them sometimes, you know." He finally explained, moving files from his desk to the ground so that he could sit down. "Every single person I've failed. Every single person I've hand a hand in causing their death, they all come back and haunt me." He whispered not meeting her eyes.

_So that was what was bothering him._ Natasha though. _Ghosts. Oh Clint._ "I don't know." She told him. "I don't know why I can go to bed with a frown on my face and in the morning wake up smiling. I wasn't even aware it happened. Maybe it's something they trained me to do. Maybe it's something that was conditioned. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. I don't know. I'm sorry Clint." She apologized as she gracefully maneuvered her way across the room avoiding the piles of books, files and miscellaneous items that were scattered all over the room and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

He looked over at her, his eyes so tortured that she wanted to do something, say something so that he could have some sort of hope. This is what she had wanted to avoid in the first place, but what could she do now? She had nothing to give him, no secret she could tell him. But for some reason she began to speak not truly knowing what she was saying or even what it meant. "I don't know Clint. I guess it's like someone's watching over me. I know it sounds silly and childish, but it's like they promised to always be there and whoever it was said that, they were always truthful and I suppose, I just trusted them." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's silly, I know. So, go ahead. Laugh if you want."

"No it's not, Nat." He reassured her, life beginning to reappear in his eyes. "Is that what you meant when you said, 'Maybe this time I can stay'?" his curiosity peaked by what Natasha had revealed and his mind trying to put two unknown puzzle pieces together.

"When did I say that?" She asked trying to remember a time when those words could have been uttered.

"The first time we met." He provided a few more details, hoping that by filling in the blanks she would begin to remember. "I was supposed to shoot you, and you said that with the most peaceful and happy expression on your face that I've ever seen. Even in all the years we've been partners."

"I don't remember that." She conceded. "But I don't remember a lot about what happens when I dream or what I dream about." Her eyes taking on a far away look as she glanced around the room and her eyes landed on the American flag Clint had hung by the door. "Sometimes I think I can remember a glimpse of a gentle smile, a flash of blond hair, and just the slightest impression of someone dressed in red, white and blue." Then just as quickly as she had disappeared she came back to earth. "But I suppose I've just seen Coulson's Captain America trading cards a few too many times." A rueful smile appearing on her face as she admitted that fact.

Clint matched her smile. Coulson was incredibly proud of those cards and during one of Natasha's early days at S.H.I.E.L.D. had "kidnapped" her and shown her every single card in his collection, how he had gotten them, and the significance behind each of them. It had been a very "educational" day for his partner.

"Natasha." Coulson suddenly appeared in their doorway. "Fury needs you. Barton, you're with me."

* * *

"So I'm going undercover tomorrow." Natasha said as she pondered the situation before her. What was the right move? If she moved there, it would leave her open to an opportunity to attack her that he would no doubt take, so not there. But that was the best move she could make, but did she really want to risk it? Maybe he wouldn't take the chance, hmm…

"Really?" Steve asked as he watched her toy with one his pawns she had captured, as she contemplated what to do.

"Yes." She said finally moving her bishop to take another pawn. "Fury wants me to shadow someone named Tony Stark."

"Huh," Now it was his turn to think. "That name sound familiar." He admitted as he moved his bishop to claim one of her pawns, mirroring her move exactly.

"Didn't I tell you about him?" She thought she had, but maybe she hadn't. "He's the guy who revealed to the world that he was Iron Man." She rolled her eyes and moved her knight to protect her bishop. "Apparently some, and these are Fury's words not mine, 'weird things are going down' and he wants me to see what's really happening."

"You'll be careful?" He requested having his bishop retreat. It wasn't worth it to attack her and loose his bishop to her knight in order to obtain her bishop.

She nodded, concentrating on the board and advancing one of her pawns before smiling and saying, "I always am."

He just rolled his eyes at her because it most definitely wasn't true. But if she wanted to believe that, then that was okay with him. He wasn't one to advocate lying, but in this case if it kept her "safe" thinking that, then he wouldn't push the issue.

They played on in comfortable silence. They had played each other so often that they knew exactly what the other was planning on doing before they even moved. It was like two dance partners sweeping across the floor preforming the most elegant waltz. And they continued to dance until

"Checkmate!" Natasha cried happily.

Steve couldn't help smiling. "You win Tasha. Do you want to practice before you leave?" He asked offering her his hand, the board disappearing and in its place his shield and her widow bites appearing. If she wasn't going to be as careful as he wished she would be, at least he would know she was in good shape before leaving. They were never sure how much of what they did in "their" world translated to Natasha's "real" world, but even if nothing did, at least he would have some peace of mind that he had done all he could for her and had protected her in his own way.

She returned his smile, grabbed her widow bites off the boulder and took his hand. "Of course."

* * *

"The mission went well?" He asked as they sat on their boulder for once not playing chess but simply sitting together enjoying the night sky.

"When doesn't it?" She asked smiling up at him, her face radiant in the silver glow of the moon.

He smiled down at her and rested his head gently against hers that lay cradled by his neck and shoulder. In that moment the final pieces of the heart that had once been shattered into a million tiny fragments were finally put back together. The little girl, no, the little child, no, his Natasha was finally happy and if she was happy, then so was he. As his newly repaired heart beat, it wished that she would always be happy in everything she did. At the same time his heart was wishing that, hers wished that he could come back with her, that he wasn't just her imaginary friend who existed only in her dreams, and that he could somehow be real and that she would finally be able to remember him. Yet in that time and place, both were content to simply sit there, together.

* * *

Steve wandered around the woods killing time before he suspected Natasha would be arriving. Things were never set in stone, he supposed some things were just not meant to be explained, but he could always guess when she was going to appear.

As a young girl Natasha had once asked him what he did when she wasn't there, and the truth be told, he didn't really do anything. He read the books that appeared on the great maple wood bookshelf by the river. He drew sketches of his friends from the war and of Natasha, and he boxed using the punching bag he had found hanging from a chestnut tree in the southern part of the forest. While he enjoyed those pastimes, he enjoyed his time with Natasha the most.

He sat down on the hill beneath the maple tree, just watching the clouds drifting past him. He would never figure out how he came to be here, but it felt as if the whole world was changing and he was stuck in the same place, forever. And then he felt it. The tiny shimmering sensations that he had only witnessed as Natasha faded away. But this time it was happening to him. What was going on? He was dead, wasn't he? Even Captain America couldn't possibly survive crashing his plane into the ocean, could he? He wondered all those things as he gently faded way, but his last coherent thought before he disappeared entirely was of Natasha. _I'm sorry Tasha. You'll be okay. I know you will be. Goodbye._

**A/N: One more chapter… Anyways, as always, thank you so much for reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it and have/had a wonderful day! :) **


	5. The End

**Hi everyone! So we've reached the end of this story. Thank you so much for coming along with me and I hope you enjoyed the ride. Thank you so much ErinKenobi2893, Qweb, Mary, and sarahbluerose for leaving such kind comments on the last chapter and Skatious, Mary, and xXxthegirlnextdoorxXx for leaving such sweet reviews on chapter 3. I meant to thank you before, but accidentally uploaded the chapter before I wrote thank you. Well on to the story, I hope you like it! :)**

* * *

"Steve? Steve? Where are you?" Natasha peered though the chestnut trees hoping to find Steve standing there boxing, so engrossed by his task that he hadn't heard her approaching the tree. He hadn't been reading or fishing by the river, nor had he been by the boulder playing both sides of a chess game (she had found him doing that more often than he would admit), nor had he been sitting underneath the maple tree just staring at the clouds passing him by as he sometimes did. She couldn't find him anywhere, it was almost as if he had never been there.

"Steve, I know you're here. You're always here. Remember, you promised. You promised me you'd always be there for me." She looked by the birch trees where he liked to take an occasional nap, watching every step in case he had been covered by some of the falling leaves.

"If this is some sort of stealth exercise, can we practice later? I need to talk to you." She searched the entire forest checking every nook and cranny where he liked to spend time, yet there was no sign he had ever been there. If the oak tree hadn't had lines carved into the side of it, she would have thought she had imagined the whole thing. She hadn't, had she? But there was no sign of him anywhere. No proof that he had ever been real or had ever existed. Was he real, wasn't he? He had to be. There was no way that he couldn't have been real. She knew he had been real. She believed that he had existed. So where was he?

Mentally and physically exhausted she sat down on their boulder. Or was it her boulder now, she wondered as she drew her knees to her chest and placed her head on them. Clint had been compromised. Her partner, the man who had been sent to kill her, the man who saved her, had been compromised and she didn't know what to do. He needed her help, but she didn't know how to help him. She needed Steve. She needed him to tell her everything would be alright and that it would all work out in the end. She needed a hug, a smile, and the promise that no matter what happened, he'd be there for her. She just needed him there with her, even if he wasn't going to say anything. But he wasn't there. Instead she was all by herself with no one watching over her and no one to watch over her.

What was she going to do about Clint? What could she do? She knew better than anyone what it was like to be unmade. She knew how hard it was to break free. She knew how difficult it was to recover and reconcile everything that had been done. She still struggles with it at times. So what could one measly little spy do? She didn't have suit of armor like Tony. She wasn't indestructible like the Dr. Banner that Coulson was sending her to retrieve. She wasn't a god like Thor who they were hoping would show up and she wasn't a hero like Captain America in all those stories Steve had told her when she was little. She was like Rapunzel stuck in a tower waiting for her prince to come rescue her. Like Sleeping Beauty awaiting a kiss from her prince. Like Cinderella who without the help of her fairy godmother would have never made it to the ball. She was nothing more than a pawn in a chess game being used to achieve someone else's goals and then when she had accomplished everything they had planned for her, they would sacrifice her for the protection of a more important piece in the game.

Yet as she thought crossed her mind, she could see Steve handing her a white pawn, just as he had that first, fateful day, smiling ever so gently as he told her – _The pawn may look like an insignificant piece, but with enough patience and time, it can become the most powerful piece on the board. Just you wait Natasha. Just you wait and see what you'll accomplish._

* * *

She had been successful in her small role in helping to save the world, and she was grateful she hadn't been squashed like so many of the characters were by giants in her fairytales. If that had happened, Coulson would have had an interesting time explaining the situation to Clint. He would have been upset that they hadn't sent anyone to watch her back. Well now she could explain it to him herself. _If you can save him_ that cold voice whispered in her mind _and if he comes back as himself, of course. And you know that better than most, don't you Natalia._ But she ignored it. Now was not the time to be dealing with her own demons, especially when Fury had asked her to locate Coulson who supposedly had landed, but had yet to appear on the bridge. Speaking of Coulson, there he was. She located him standing off to the side with a man she had never seen before. _Was he a new recruit?_

"Coulson they need you on the bridge. They're starting." Natasha told him as he stood seemingly enamored by the man who stood besides him.

While he walked away she turned towards Coulson's companion to see more clearly the man who had captured his attention like nothing ever had, besides his vintage Captain America trading cards, of course. Those captured his attention like nothing else. As she studied the man who now stood besides her, towering over, seemingly watching over her, she felt the strange urge to hold out her hand and introduce herself. _"You shake it and tell me your name, child."_ A kind voice informed her. A voice seemingly so familiar, so very achingly familiar that she wanted to around, search for that voice, and throw her arms around that person as if she had been missing them for so long. Yet at the same time, it was so unknown that it just made her smile sadly as she held out her hand to the strange man with the gentle smile and blond hair.

"Natasha Romanoff."

He stared at her for a few seconds, her green eyes sparkling with unshed tears that seemed to urge him to reach his hand up and wipe them away. Her crimson hair curling around her face causing the ghost of a child giggling and saying "My name's not child, silly," to appear for the briefest second and her melancholy smile reminded him of someone who had lost her best friend. But he didn't vocalize any of his observations. Instead he did the thing that for some strange reason seemed so familiar yet so foreign, as if he had done it a million times, yet had never done it before. And he knew that he never had. The woman standing next to him, Natasha, appeared far younger than his biological age. Then how could he know her when he had been frozen in ice for nearly 70 years and she was probably born during that time? So he simply reached out his hand to take the small, fragile hand that she offered, somehow knowing that she possessed far more strength than it appeared and introduced himself.

"Steve Rogers."

* * *

**AN. So what did you think? I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, thank you so much for reading this and I hope you have/had a blessed day. :)**


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